


heelturn round the bend

by orphan_account



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Trans Male Character, disclaimers in the notes, edited but not beta read, it's alfyn and he has a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There are times when Alfyn wishes he knew just slightly less about medicine.Sometimes they’re cowardly times when he wishes in a deep, festering part of himself that he had the excuse of ignorance to avoid responsibility when someone was dying and he knew he couldn’t do a thing about it, but mostly they’re times like now when he wonders, genuinely, where the line is between the kind of person who hurts people on purpose and the kind who hurts people on accident.
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass/Therion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	heelturn round the bend

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been lurking in the octopath tag for *checks watch* A YEAR and this is my magnum opus. dont try to find my comments i change my name every time to avoid being identified and i use a vpn with my location set to a rotating set of small rural towns in eastern europe  
> anyway disclaimer one: alfyn is not a super reliable narrator in this one. his opinions of characters do not necessarily reflect the author's. they might but you would have to read my 10k character analysis of every PC in octopath traveler,  
> disclaimer two: i like writing angst and that's my emotional support unhealthy dynamic  
> disclaimer three: i can count the number of times i've written porn before on one hand  
> disclaimer four: i have a card that says "i can do whatever i want re: trans rep" with "he's a trans guy so its cool" underneath and it's signed by bernie sanders  
> disclaimer five: i started writing this an hour ago  
> disclaimer six: they MIGHT be in character. you don't know. i've played octopath all the way through seven times and alfyn never once said he wasnt kind of a freak. respect the journey.

There are times when Alfyn wishes he knew just slightly less about medicine.

Sometimes they’re cowardly times when he wishes in a deep, festering part of himself that he had the excuse of ignorance to avoid responsibility when someone was dying and he knew he couldn’t do a thing about it, but mostly they’re times like now when he wonders, genuinely, where the line is between the kind of person who hurts people on purpose and the kind who hurts people on accident.

Therion’s quiet, pained breath brings him back to reality, and he realizes he must be pressing down on his shoulder hard enough to hurt.

And that’s the worst thing, really. It would be easier if Theri really was the stubborn, cocky thief he pretended to be when their companions started to feel guilty about publicly airing their grievances about pickpockets, if he really was tough enough to take everything Alfyn wanted to do to him and then some.

Alfyn forces himself to lighten up, changing the hard press into gently tracing over Therion’s neck and trying to think less about how easy it would be to choke him.

_Would he fight back?_ he wonders, a sinking feeling in his gut that _probably not_.

Therion knows he’s near the only reason the rest of them even tolerate him(Ophilia, especially, is perilously close to kicking his ass out of the party every time he comes back to the inn with the medical supplies Alfyn had whispered in his ear and the things they needed but that Tressa couldn’t buy), and he’s made it uncomfortably clear through a series of not-really-joking jokes and downturned glances that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep himself in his good graces.

_I already love you_ , he wants to say, but he knows it wouldn’t match with his actions. He just wishes he’d been perceptive enough to realize that the night they’d kissed had nothing to do with whether or not Therion wanted it.

_I wasn’t defending you for this_ , he wants to say, but he knows Therion doesn’t believe in getting things for free, and he’s sure been taking the payment he says he doesn’t need.

Money is so much easier to refuse, is the thing. Leaves don’t look at him almost longingly and they don’t kiss back and they don’t laugh genuinely just for a second.

He wishes he wasn’t so fucking _transparent_ about what he really wants, too. Wishes that it had taken longer than two nights for Therion to realize he was testing the waters, seeing how rough he could be, and he sorely wishes the man had come to the incorrect conclusion that he was trying to be careful instead of the far more accurate one that he liked it when Therion was scared.

He very, very much wishes he hadn’t used any of the medical supplies Therion gets hell for giving him on wounds he’d caused himself. He hadn’t meant to scratch him at all, it had been—

It had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to actually do it.

Therion meets his eyes, darting his gaze away quickly and shifting awkwardly beneath him. It’s an act, he thinks, a show of submission that has nothing to do with instinct at least, but it works and his body reacts without thinking.

People always say you only think with your dick when you do something fucking stupid for the sake of getting off, but it turns out there’s this third possibility where you just think with all three and it’s the pits.

Alfyn leans down to kiss him and feels simultaneously revolted and deeply intrigued when Therion makes a pained noise and tries to press far enough into the pallet to escape. He moves his hand to still his head and hates the way it excites him when Therion lets himself be held down.

Therion opens his mouth, then, maybe to say something, making the first noise of a word before thinking better of it and then closing his eye and letting Alfyn lick into his mouth. He coughs a little on the added spit and mixes it in with the cut-off gasps in a way…in a way.

It’s harder to think, now. Easier to do.

Easy to run his hand over the soft neck with a scar that worries him when he’s thinking straight and press down just enough that Therion coughs harder into the kiss and screws his eye shut so tight it looks like it hurts as he tries to keep breathing, easy to leave bites just barely too shallow to leave marks on the shoulders with signs of injury from a fall that probably cause him pain from being moved normally, easy to take hands with crookedly healed bones and hold them over a head with a scar under his hair that feels too old, and easy to run his hands down the side of his face that’s almost completely been lost to infection and ancient scar tissue, easy to move down to legs that look like they’ve been broken and easy to touch him in a way that makes him thrash limbs at risk of being sprained from regular movement.

If he had any decency, if he was sticking to his moral code, he would give Therion the pain relief tonic in his satchel and let him get as much sleep as possible, but he doesn’t so he cajoles him into taking it and then spends an hour every couple nights losing the willpower not to fuck him.

“Ah—…ah—“ Therion gasps out, cringing when he hears a crack from the wrist Alfyn has pressed above him, “Y-You…”

His eyes say _kill me already I know you want to_ and Alfyn wishes to all thirteen gods that he wanted to take care of him.

He’s thought about that too, he’s thought about coming home and kissing Therion in the kitchen after making him dinner, about sewing his husband clothes and dancing together at festivals, but he can’t stop thinking about what happens if Therion says yes when what he really wants is to never see him again. He can’t stop thinking about Wellspring and seeing the same look in Therion’s eye when it was watching someone else, he can't stop thinking about leaving your right hand to die as a distraction and how far that is from what he does.

“Please,” Therion whines, and he realizes none of this has stopped him from tracing lines over his thighs and barely brushing his dick, teasing him until there are tears in his eyes and he’s shaking from the effort to stay still.

“I— I’ve got ya,” Alfyn says, and doesn’t believe it. He could do this in his sleep. Does he ever do this in his sleep?

Therion looks at him like he knows that’s what he’s thinking, but instead of saying anything he just looks up and keeps gasping out tiny hurt noises as Alfyn focuses his movement.

“N-not yet,” he begs, arching his back into the touch and crying out when Alfyn goes faster without really thinking about it.

He processes it, then, realizes he’s being cruel at the last second and takes his hand off only to realize being dropped at the brink isn’t _less_ mean and then immediately afterwards realizing that the noise of pure frustration Therion lets out as he just barely doesn’t come is the worst and best thing he’s ever heard.

Therion doesn’t say anything about it, just presses his head back harder and lets a tear slip out of his eye, entire body trembling. He looks like he’s accepted this, and Alfyn doesn’t know why that’s so much worse than when he just looked like he hated it, but it sure is.

He grabs the oil base from his satchel, then, and helps Therion to steady himself enough to lift his hips up so Alfyn can reach under him.

Therion takes being opened up with the quiet dignity of being almost completely worn out, and Alfyn manages to keep this part painless. As terrible as he is to him during this, he can force himself to do some things right. He falls into a soft rhythm. It feels weirdly professional.

Eventually, though, his hand starts to cramp and Therion’s more than ready, so he gently removes his fingers and pushes in.

Therion just sighs, closing his eye and waiting for the hard part to start. He waits for a second. He…maybe he should go easy.

Alfyn snaps his hips once as a warning, and Therion chokes on his own spit. _Fuck._ He had meant that to be easy. He tries again and realizes as Therion tenses around him with a yelp that anything hard enough to get him off is going to be murder on Therion’s oversensitive body and cringes.

He decides to press the iron to the wound and sets as hard a pace as he can, trying to at least get it over with quickly, and trying to ignore the way Therion has to grip the canvas under him just to keep from being knocked into the wall sits with him, which is both extremely well and as bad as it could fucking be. Therion turns his face to the side and tries to bury his pained moans in the fabric and Alfyn can barely keep from touching him just to see if he can get him back to the edge. Therion’s dick keeps twitching, jostled by the movement and leaking, and he wants to grab it hard enough to hurt. He wants to drop him at the edge again and bring him back and drop him until he passes out. He wants to do _this_ until he passes out, snapping his hips until tears leak out of Therion’s eyes like a river and just letting himself enjoy the noises of a man who’s almost lost his fucking mind.

“I-I—ahhhhh _hhh_!” Therion buries in the mattress. “Fuckfuckfuck _I_ —! Pleasepleaseplea—“

He comes with a choked-off scream and Alfyn can’t stop, just keeps going until the scream becomes pained, oversensitive breathing and he pulls out just in time to avoid finishing inside him.

Therion falls without the support and closes his eye, still shaking.

Alfyn wants to tell him he looks good like this, wants to— say he’s proud of him, or something. Wants to make him feel like this was worth it because he’s achieved something, but the only reason he feels like this is because Alfyn is a selfish bastard and there was no point at all, so he just reaches to clean him off and says “I know, I’m sorry” when Therion whines at the cloth when it touches the places that hurt most.

After they’re both clean, Alfyn picks him up and carries him to the other bed, grabbing the extra pain relief tonic and guiding it into Therion’s mouth, watching his face relax after he swallows with a mixture of relief and guilt.

Therion curls into him as he pulls the blanket over the both of them, and he feels even guiltier for pulling him closer and petting his hair as his eyes close and he’s out like a light. Alfyn thinks he is, anyway. It might be an act so they don’t have to talk, which is incredibly considerate and makes him feel really sick. It’s also probably that he’s too fucking tired to bother with the light, safe sleep he used to stick to exclusively, and there’s a lot in him that doesn’t sit right taking that away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the sleeping body.

It takes about an hour for him to follow.

—

_In Therion's dreams, Darius is over him and then his face resolves into Alfyn's and Therion screams and says it’s different now, it’s different he's doing this on purpose this time it’s a grift it’s a grift it’s not the same I swear and Alfyn just laughs with Darius’ voice and asks what the fuck he thinks he’s doing this for, and bile rises in his throat as he tries to come up with anything other than that Alfyn looks at him like he’s worth something and he’s so so so easy._

_In his dreams, Alfyn touches him gently in their little house in the desert and he feels the sand beneath his feet as he says go it’s okay Auntie wants you to make dinner I’ll watch the kids and Alfyn laughs and says but I’d rather stay with you and there’s a necklace around his throat and it means I choose you and it’s okay now._

_In his dreams Darius touches his hair and says I’m sorry. In his dreams Alfyn gives him a tonic and it makes him whole again. In his dreams they’re the same person. In his dreams there’s someone who will love him on purpose and he believes him when he says it. In his dreams someone kisses him in wedding clothes and tells him forever._

_In his dreams he’s still wearing a necklace but it’s under his scarf so only they know about it and Alfyn pulls him up by it at night so they can kiss and he laughs into his mouth and says I love you over and over and over._

_In his dreams he is someone else and the other six are his friends and when they say good people they mean him too._

_In his dreams Darius finds him in a tavern and says I always loved you, I just wanted a clean break and then takes him to an inn and it’s Alfyn now and then it’s both of them and then it’s just one person but he feels like both of them and then it’s not an inn and he’s alone again._

_In his dreams he’s alone forever. In his dreams he makes Alfyn mad and he poisons his food and Therion drinks it knowingly and he coughs up blood by himself in an alley and nobody cares. In his dreams Alfyn loses an argument and everyone leaves without him. In his dreams Alfyn stays and resents him for it forever. In his dreams Gareth finds him and says what’s different between you and me and he can’t find an answer._

_In his dreams Alfyn pushes down too hard and he lets him and the air leaves him forever and he dies trying to be what he wants. In his dreams he’s whatever Alfyn wants him to be._

—

Alfyn sits against the wall of another inn, gently rubbing the inside of Therion’s wrist as he leafs through a medical textbook. It’s weird to be back in Atlasdam about to go back to Noblecourt, but Primrose has a murder to do and by the gods she’s gonna do it. He wonders when he started being fine with that. He doesn’t _feel_ fine with that, but not being fine with that would mean cutting ties with the rest of them and— okay well he wouldn’t be fine with cutting ties with _most_ of them. If Ophilia left, maybe— maybe things would be easier. Maybe Primrose too. Maybe if both of them left the rest of them could relax. Maybe also Olberic—

He updates his conclusion to “maybe if it was just me and Therion then there wouldn’t be any pressure and he would fight back and I could stop having the excuse to do this” and glances down to see Therion—

Relaxed. He looks like a sleeping kitten, body tucked into Alfyn’s left side except for the hand that he’s letting Alfyn hold, and it makes his heart hurt. He wants to take care of him, now, wants to be gentle and wake him up in three hours with a soft kiss and an I-love-you. He could die for this view. This view is killing him.

Therion sighs a little in his sleep, contentedly, and he just barely manages to convince himself this isn’t for his benefit. Just barely manages to convince himself that every gesture of affection is not carefully calculated as repayment for his amazing, heroic stand of shouting at Ophilia earlier because she had seen Therion pickpocket a cleric and had nearly gotten him arrested because Tressa had asked him to go for the refreshing jam. He doesn't feel particularly heroic, but he’d been so godsdamned angry and right after Therion had looked at him like he was his fucking guardian spirit and when Alfyn had pulled him into his lap as a joke Therion had gone with a look like they’d been married for sixteen years and he’d wanted it, then.

He and Ophilia should really be better friends. Maybe she makes him feel a little like he’s failing miserably. Maybe she just makes him angry.

Therion shifts slightly and he tries to calm down, to go back to gentle petting and tries to stop wondering if he even _can_ , if this is a symptom of his disease. What awful things it says about him that he can’t even do this right.

He sighs and forces the anger to leave his body. _You can do this_. He reads about the way noxroot used to be an exclusively riverlands herb before it was discovered that when exposed to the dry climate of the sunlands it became an invasive species and that when the creation of the sunlands-highlands diaspora brought it to the Ventus Dynasty as a tea, its name was translated as sand-shrub and knowledge of its poisonous properties was only known by sunlands-born healers until it was used to poison one of the rulers, leading to the collapse of the empire. That’s not something he knew. Thank you, Cyrus, for the recommendation while we were in Stonegard. Very informative.

Therion curls his hand so that he’s grabbing Alfyn’s hand and his mind goes blank. He has to re-read the entire section. Apparently while prejudice against the sunlands immigrants had been present before the collapse, it saw a sharp spike after that event, which is part of the reason that medicine which would’ve been commonplace in the sunlands at the time of the immigration remained unused until the middle Hornburgian empire during a plague.

Therion huffs quietly and Alfyn checks briefly to see if he's awake. Not yet. Maybe? He thinks no. He goes back to the book. It was written in the late middle Hornburgian empire, apparently, as the author talks about the plague as being twenty-three years ago, so if it happened in 813 AG, that would mean…he can’t do math…what’s 813 plus twenty-three?…eight hundred thirty…nine? And the current year is— shit what year is it, 1024— no, the gods-given year of 1025 After the Gods walked the world, which would mean it was written…two hundred years ago ish sort of kind of. Old-ass book. Cyrus hadn’t mentioned it, which makes him wonder what kind of books he’s fucking reading. He guesses the man is a historian, which predisposes him to reading shit that’s in the BG, but still! The book doesn’t _look_ two hundred years old ish kind of give or take.

Therion shifts and Alfyn worries he’s been jostling him, so he tries to shush him back to sleep but that just wakes him up for real and now Therion is blinking at him sleepily and he thinks he may have actually been asleep and not pretending because there is a little bit of drool at the corner of his mouth and he wants to wipe it off with his finger.

“Evenin’,” Alfyn says, realizing why Therion was squinting out the window. “‘Bout seven, I think.”

“Damn,” Therion says.

“You had a long day,” he says. Now that he’s awake, Therion’s shifting in his lap a bunch and he wishes he had better self-control.

Therion notices, tucking his head into the crook of Alfyn’s neck and grinding down. “Long night too?”

“Could be,” he chokes out. “Doesn’t…doesn’t have to be.” He hates that Therion has him so down, by now, knows the way to pull back up and look at him like he wants this. “I— I…”

Therion gasps when his hips jerk up and this is all happening so fast and he could still say no.

_He_ can always say no, it’s just that Therion will find some other way to repay him and that usually involves stealing and that might set off another argument and he does not have it in him.

He doesn’t really have anything in him right now but guilt and blood concentrated in a very particular place, so he picks Therion up and carries him over to one of the beds and sets him down, helping him strip off the six thousand layers he wears and laughing when a ring falls out of his shawl.

“Who’s this for?” he asks, because this is the part before he wants to get mean, where he’s still pretending that this time could be different.

Therion’s breath skips when Alfyn’s fingers tighten around his belt, picking the ring up and tossing it so it lands perfectly on top of the book, left lonely on the table until now. “It’s— mmn— it’s gonna be for— ah— Cyrus. H-helps with— ah-h— helps with evasion.” He stutters as Alfyn’s hands drift over his crotch. “You— ahhhh!”

He’d probably meant to say “you need to take my pants off”, but Alfyn’s hand tightens over the lump in his pants just then and his entire body convulses. It’s a good look on him.

“You’re a real sweetheart, y’know that?” he asks, picking Therion up by the hips and tugging the rest of his clothes off, pulling him back into his lap and up into a kiss.

Therion gasps into it. “I guess,” he says when Alfyn lets him go.

Instead of pressing it— which he wants to do, he wants to ask why the hell he thinks he isn’t generous, why sticking his neck out every time they come to town just so everyone has what they need doesn't make him a fucking saint— he changes the subject. “You look real nice in jewelry, y’know that? Don’t mind the necklace one bit.”

Therion’s face heats up— he hadn’t actually meant it to be that effective, but something he said clearly hit a nerve. “I— it’s— it makes you a target for pickpockets,” he mutters.

Alfyn figures he’d better lean in, so he does, pressing close to Therion’s ear. “Then how about you only wear ‘em with me?”

A choked-out cry rips out of Therion’s throat and he buries his face in Alfyn’s chest. He can feel the warmth through the shirt he still has on— why does he have a shirt on? On impulse, Alfyn kisses his hair.

Therion sobs beneath him and— oh. Oh, he’s really crying. Alfyn guides him to look up and sees tear tracks down his face. “Shit,” he says. “I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine,” Therion says quickly. “I just— I—“

“What did that mean to you?” he asks. “I don’t wanna—“

Therion looks down. He looks like he hates this. “I-In. Where I was. Where I was born. You. Um. You give someone a necklace when you’re…uh…together—“

Oh.

_Oh._

_Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh._

_Fuck._

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Didn’t wanna make things weird, I swear—“

“— _I_ made things weird,” he insists. “I— I just—“

He wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind it not being a joke at all, but he’s not sure if that’s the right thing to say and oh, gods, if it’s the wrong thing. “No, you didn’t do anythin’ wrong—“

“Yes I did!” Therion says. “I didn’t— just— just keep going, I’ll stop—“

Alfyn kisses him and hopes it means the right kind of I’m sorry. “It’s okay if you want…y’know,” he says when they stop. “I don’t mind.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Therion asks, accusatory, and then immediately freezes. “I—“

“No,” he says, trying to keep Therion from apologizing for anything else that’s Alfyn’s fault. “I just…if you wanted t’ be…y’know…romantically…I. That’d be alright.”

Therion’s really truly crying now, sobbing into his shirt and he looks so fucking small. “ _Please_ …” he trails off, but he doesn’t know if it’s asking him to stop or keep going.

“I don’t,” Alfyn tries. “I— uh— I kinda figured you hated me and you were just kinda toleratin’ my shit because I kept anyone from gettin’ you arrested, and I— I don’t know how you feel about me.”

“How— how do you feel about _me_?” Therion chokes out.

Oh. He…might want the same thing Alfyn does. To not be the idiot who breaks first. Alfyn _feels_ like the idiot who broke first already. “Theri, I fuckin’ love you,” he says. “A lot. I wish I— wish I was a little more gentle with ya, actually.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says, muffled.

“Which part?”

“ _Either_ ,” Therion protests. “You’re such an asshole— fuck, I didn’t mean—“

“I’ll keep fightin’ for ya no matter what ya say,” Alfyn interrupts. “'S alright. I shoulda been nicer if I didn’t wanna be called an asshole. But— c’mon, Theri, you know how I am at lyin’. I love ya and I’m sorry I give you hell every time we fuck, really, I just— I ain’t the best at self-control, ‘specially about this—”

“That’s not _true_ ,” he says, floodgates opening, “y-you’re not, I don’t fucking believe you, you’re lying, I thought— I thought you’d just let me pay you back, why’d I— why’d you—? I hate this, I hate this, why’re you so fucking mean to me what did I _do_ —?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Alfyn interrupts, feeling his eyes start watering. “I’m just _like this_ an’ I don’t know how not t’ be an’ you got the bad end of it an’ I should never’ve let you ‘pay me back’ in the first place it goes against everythin’ I fuckin’ stand for I just think you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen an’ I ain’t as nice as I wish I was, I—“

“I hate you,” Therion says, small. “I have dreams about us getting married. You could’ve made me come by talking about our fucking marriage, I— I’m really, really pathetic.”

He does not say “I’ll have to try that sometime”, that would be disgusting and slimy and he wants to try that. He wonders if Therion had meant to say “married” when he said “together”. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says. “If it was you.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Therion begs. “S-stop saying that like you mean it, it’s fucking with my head—“

“How else am I s’posed to say somethin’ I mean?” he asks, tired. “Theri—“

“Don’t call me that!” He slams a fist against Alfyn’s chest, not even hard enough to hurt. “I— I told myself I wasn’t gonna fall for the first— the first asshole who pretended to be nice to me so he could fucking get something out of me, said this time I was gonna pick someone who wouldn’t ever lie to me and what did I _fucking_ do, go head over heels for the first— fucking— riverlands— talking— asshole— I— fucking— find,” he cries, punctuating the last couple words with another punch. “Fucking— I thought it wasn’t as obvious anymore, I thought I was doing _better_ …” He trails off, sobbing again. “I thought this wasn’t gonna happen again.”

Oh!

_Oh._

Oh.

“So it…happened before,” Alfyn sighs. “That guy in Wellspring?”

“Yeah,” Therion says, tired. “Yeah. Darius.”

“It’d be easier t’ defend myself if I hadn’t been worryin’ I was doin’ the same thing to you as whatever the fuck he did for,” he thinks, “Fuckin’. Since Wellspring. However many months that is.”

Therion is quiet, for a second.

He sighs, and he sounds a million years old.

“You haven’t even been,” Therion says. “You— you’re so much nicer than him. You clean me up afterwards and you give me painkillers and let me sit in your lap and you stick up for me in front of your friends and you— you kiss me.”

“Pretty low bar,” he says.

“I _know_.” He groans. “Seven fucking years. Met him when I was eleven, he threw me off a fucking cliff when I was eighteen. I wouldn’t have left him for anything less. He— he treated me like shit, and I took it because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” He sighs. “And I’m _still_ not over him.”

“Oh,” Alfyn says. That’s…worse. “Fuck, I’m exactly like him—“

“No you’re not, shut up,” Therion says. “I mean— I’m in love with you the same stupid, pathetic way I…was with him, but you…you’re…different. It’s me that’s the same.”

“No— I— Therion, it’s not your fuckin’ fault he treated you like shit,” Alfyn insists. “He— you were _eleven_? You didn’t let him or ask for it or deserve it or fuckin’ anything, an’ if I treat you like shit it’s my fault too.”

“You don’t treat me like shit,” Therion says. “You don’t. You never hurt me so much I don’t heal in a day, and you— Alfyn, _everyone_ ’s been giving you shit about me for months and you’ve stood up for me every time! One time Darius’ friend stabbed me because I sneezed near him and he told me to go outside and take care of it myself.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you settlin’ for ‘not the worst’ just ‘cause you don’t think you can find someone who actually treats you right!” Alfyn insists. “I don’t…I’m just an okay friend. _Sometimes_. Sometimes I’m a really shitty lay—“

“—I like it!” Therion blurts out. “I— uh. I like the sex we have. It feels good and I— I like making you happy.”

“What? I—“ he wants to ask about other things, about his “still not over him” and definitely more about _seven years_ and why wasn’t anyone taking care of him but they probably oughta hammer this one out first. “You…like it when I’m mean an’ shitty to you while we fuck?”

“I…” Therion does not look like a man who wants to explain the details of his sexual preferences. “I like you…paying attention to me, and sometimes you look at me like I’m— interesting or attractive or like you want me or whatever and it makes me feel— good. If you like me when I’m hurt then I want to do that for you. It feels…good. To do that for you.”

He hadn’t even realized he wasn’t hard anymore until he suddenly was again. Therion feels it and grabs his shirt where he’d been punching him earlier.

Alfyn manages to get out a “Please don’t” before Therion ruins his ability to think coherently. “I— we still gotta talk about some stuff.”

“I hate talking about this,” Therion says, threatening to grind down again. Alfyn holds his hips.

“Oh yeah, me too, I just—“ Alfyn sighs. “We gotta. You said you’re ‘not over him’?”

Therion cringes. “I’m…mostly over him,” he says. “I wouldn’t actually take him back. I just. Remember what it was like to be really, really in love with him, and…”

“That’s fine,” he says, “Just…so long as you’re not plannin’ on actin’ stupid when we go to kick his ass and you’re not…projecting his face onto mine while we fuck or whatever.”

Therion doesn’t answer at first. “I…when we go to Northreach I’ll let you do anything I can’t, and…does it count if it’s just in dreams?”

Huh.

“…That’ll…do. For now. And,” Alfyn sighs. “Can ya tell me about where ya came from…sometime? Doesn’t have t’ be now.”

“Fine,” he agrees. “Someday.”

“D’you want to be…romantic?”

“Yes.” _Oh, good._

“D’you wanna tell the others?”

“Fuck no.”

“D’you…love me…?

“Yeah,” Therion says. “I…I’m, it's—“

“You can always explain it to me when ya have the words,” Alfyn says.

He laughs, then. A little hysterically. “Fuck you. Calling yourself fucking ‘settling’.” He punches his chest again. “I love you.”

It’s the first time he’s said it. “Oh, good,” Alfyn says, also a little hysterical. “This’d be really awkward otherwise.”

“Can you believe when I thought I was six I thought I was gonna be married by the time I was twenty?” Therion asks. “Fucking idiot.”

He does not mention that at six years old he still thought that he was a girl. Thank Dohter in his infinite grace for giving the good people of Orsterra the abundant plant life necessary to correct that one. Shit, he should mention that. Six year old him also would’ve rather died than kiss anyone, but the past is the past. Present him still kind of wants to rein it in a little, but— he sounds so happy.

They can cross that bridge when they come to it, he decides, pulling Therion up for a kiss. It doesn’t quite work because they both end up smiling, but then they both realize that they’re hard and they find it in them to sober up.

Therion’s noisier than usual, gasping every time he gets jostled or moved or something changes and it’s driving him fucking insane. This entire day— anything that happened today would’ve been enough to make him need to sit against a wall for a couple hours just getting his thoughts in order, but as he takes stock of all of them mashed together he decides that the most important thing to do right now is push Therion down and start leaving marks on his neck. He’d never done it before because it had seemed— awful to do to someone if they didn’t want it, but Therion sure fucking sounds like he’s enjoying it and he realizes, now, that he wanted to even more than he thought.

“Fuckfuckfuck _yes_ ,” Therion groans, “It— ah— fuck I’m so _loud_ —“

“I like it,” Alfyn reassures him. “Fuck, seeing you enjoy this does shit to me.”

“Fucking— do that thing with my hips,” he demands.

Alfyn grabs his hips and lifts him up and Therion sounds like he’s dying. “That?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says. “You’re so fucking strong I—“

Alfyn grabs his hands, pinning him down and Therion yells loud enough he starts to worry that the others can hear them. “I love you, but you gotta keep your voice down.”

“I c—I caaaan’t,” he says, “I’m trying I just— it’s—“

He covers the rest of it with his mouth but that means he feels every noise in his skeleton and it’s doing things to his dick. He holds Therion down where he’s thrashing but all it ends up doing is knocking them together and— well, they’re definitely both hard.

“You’re not usually _this_ sensitive,” he says offhandedly.

“You told me you love me,” Therion whines.

_Ah_. So that’s really a thing for him. He—

He does not have the self-control not to exploit that. “I do,” he says. “Gonna marry you an’ everything.”

The first tear leaks out of Therion’s eye as his back arches. “Agh—“

“Do they let ya make the necklace by hand, where ya come from?” he asks. “Wanna see you in somethin’ I made.” He finishes it with a stroke along Therion’s thigh that makes him jump.

“Haa-ahh,” he groans. “They— you— you’re s-supposed to make it yourself— and then I— I’d wear it under my clothes after the w-wedding so you’d be— be the only person who saw me wearing it—“

“I’d like that,” he says, covering Therion’s choked-off moan with his mouth. “Real possessive. Wanna fuck you in nothing but that.”

The tears are coming now in earnest and Therion looks like he's so hard it hurts. “P- _please_.”

“Pull you around by it like a collar,” he wonders. “Kiss your neck through it and tell you how good you look for me.”

“Oh— oh _fuck_ ,” Therion says and comes untouched. Alfyn kisses him through it, stroking his back. He’s shaking.

When he steadies, Alfyn pulls back. “You alright?”

“I think I died for a second,” he says breathlessly, “but I’m fine now.” He looks down. “I came on your clothes.”

So he did. “Shouldn’t’a been wearin’ ‘em,” Alfyn says, starting to strip. “Gods, that was hot.”

Therion shifts awkwardly. “We can…keep going.”

He tugs off his pants. “I— yeah, I figured I could jack off or—“

“No,” Therion says, “we can _keep going_.”

Oh. He sits back down. “It’ll hurt.”

“It’s supposed to,” he says. “I wanna see you come inside me.”

_Fuck. Fuck, shit. Gods. Fucking damn._ “I— I…”

Therion climbs into his lap, wrapping his arms around him. “Feels good when you tease me,” he mumbles.

“Stop—“

He looks up. “Want you to make me yours.” He traces the fresh bites on his neck. “Want you to fuck me so hard I know who I belong to even when I can’t see you—“

“Theri,” he says, trying his hardest to keep calm, fuck he’s really hard.

“Wanna be good for you,” he says quietly and Alfyn’s gone.

He shoves him down, Therion landing on the mattress with a cut-off gasp as Alfyn barely remembers that preparation exists and then barely convinces himself to do it. Therion waits patiently, then arches his back into the first cold finger, and the second, and the third.

He doesn’t go as slow as he usually does, but Therion just lies back and lets himself be overwhelmed, choking on air as he hardens again, just _looking_ at him. Watching Alfyn watch him.

Eventually he's probably ready and Alfyn enters him as fast as possible. Therion keeps himself from screaming, grabbing the bedcover to stuff in his mouth until Alfyn rips it out of his hand and leans down to shove his tongue down his throat. Both of them are noisy now, just barely not yelling into the kiss as Alfyn fucks him like his life depends on it.

“Yesyesyesyes _yes—_ ” Therion gasps at the same time as Alfyn says “Fuckfuckfuckfuck _shit_ —“

and grabs onto Alfyn’s shoulders, trying to keep himself at least on the bed.

Alfyn wants to say something, wants to tell him how fucking good he looks, wants to tell him he meant it earlier when he said Therion was the prettiest thing there was or is or will be, but he can’t actually make words right now because Therion is tight around him and he looks like he fucking loves it, and that’s taking everything he has.

He comes hard, dropping his head on Therion’s shoulder and trying to keep himself from passing out during the comedown. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says. “I didn’t know I had a thing for. Y’know. Bein’ possessive an’ all that.”

Therion, having apparently gotten himself off at some point while Alfyn was busy trying to kill both of them with his dick, sighs and tightens his arms around Alfyn's shoulders. “I did,” he admits.

Alfyn breaks out of the embrace to look shocked at him. “How?”

He blushes. “Educated guess,” he says.

“Sometimes I’m worried you’re not actually perfect for me and this is all an act to get me to like you,” he admits.

Therion’s mouth twists. “I…I mean, I do want you to like me.” He looks away. “I maybe used to play up how much you actually hurt me.”

“You did?” He doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.

“It still hurt,” he says. “But…I don’t mind you, you know. Moving me around.” He cringes.

Alfyn laughs. “You mentioned,” he says.

“Remember that time when you picked me up?” Therion asks.

“…Which time?”

“I— that one time on the way to Saintsbridge, before…everything. I couldn’t reach my scarf and you just…picked me up.”

He thinks about it, and an image of watching Therion very obviously struggle to reach his scarf from where Olberic had moved it in a fit of forgetting he was as tall as the average oak tree, and he’d picked him up just enough to grab it. “…Yeah. Yeah, I do now.”

“I got off to that for like two months,” he admits. “Used to find a private place and think about you holding me up against the tree and fucking me until my back looked like a fucking tartan.”

That’s a scene. Fuck, Therion’s got taste. “I could fuck you against a wall sometime.”

“Yes please,” he says.

Alfyn laughs, then pauses. “Oh, I had something to tell you.” Wait, what was it?

Therion grabs the bedcover from where it had been…taken off the bed, earlier. “Can we move to the other bed while you do that?”

He nods, grabbing a cloth and handing it to Therion as he— oh! That’s what it was.

“I used to be a girl,” he says.

Therion nods. “I know.”

He blinks. “How?”

“Your dick looks different,” he says, pulling on his shirt and climbing into the other bed.

“Oh.” Why did he not realize that. He knows that. He knows the difference.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice—“

“I am not a smart man,” he admits, pulling Therion on top of him so they both fit in the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> i would like to thank square enix for their hit game final fantasy nine,


End file.
